


Newborn in Darkness

by seki



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Vampire Ignis Scientia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seki/pseuds/seki
Summary: Ignis wakes up dead, and finds adapting to this change in circumstance both far easier and far harder than one might have expected.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 137
Collections: The Ignoct Big Bang 2019





	Newborn in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Ignoct Big Bang 2019.
> 
> Accompanying art for this fic by Yuzu Rain can be found [here](https://twitter.com/reginarossaRain/status/1221943289244536832)!

Ignis doesn't even _notice,_ that first morning, and doing so takes long enough to be embarrassing when he does.

He rises early, goes down to the gymnasium in his building in a mood both drowsy and energised, proceeds to beat all his personal bests on the machines, showers and changes in the locker room, and makes it all the way back upstairs before he looks in a mirror and fails to see himself.

It takes him five minutes of first panicked and then cautious, intrigued assessment; his heart is not beating and there is no reflection of himself in either his mirrors or in the silver cutlery he keeps for preferred company.

It is, therefore, via a steel spatula that he inspects his neck for holes and finds only tiny scars, that he examines his teeth -- nothing abnormal there -- and then his eyes -- the whites seem whiter than is normal -- and then with some resignation his unattended post-shower hair that has dried messily. He'll be late for work if he doesn't hurry. It seems absurd to care. But Ignis _likes_ his life, and so he decides to at least attempt to continue to inhabit it.

After all, he doesn't _feel_ different.

\--

His lungs don't draw breath unless he forces the matter. He does, sometimes, if he's aware of being observed. Not breathing is too unnatural to escape notice.

Appearance-wise, he looks anemic to himself. His lips are pallid, and when he pulls his lower eyelid down the underneath is pale. For the first time in his life, Ignis develops an interest in makeup. Research leads him to lip stains that promise to last all day. They do subtly lend his mouth more colour than death grants it, and nobody seems to notice. 

His nails seem ashen, too, and Ignis rather wishes he could get away with nail varnish. Perhaps something tasteful in a fawn or buff tone would be regarded as merely a toe-dip in the pool of flamboyance, he thinks, and then discards the thought. Never mind.

Sunlight prickles his skin, uncomfortable. It's not, however, _deadly_ , as far as he dares test. He walks in shadows when possible, bears the pinprick sensation when he must, glad his accustomed clothing covers him so completely.

Food is, frankly, upsetting. He does have a sense of hunger--distant, nonurgent--but flavours have far less impact than he remembers. Several exceptions exist and retain their zest: alcohol, mustard, vinegar and sour candies. He tries, in the privacy of his own locked apartment, a careful trial of meat, first blue-rare then raw, and finds that neither sparks any particular craving or sate any particular hunger either. A pity.

Despite the failure of meat as an appetiser, he can practically _hear_ the blood running through the veins of his colleagues and friends. It sings, hums in his awareness, a life force that he lacks.

It makes him yearn to lean into people, to get close to that vitality.

He can resist the urge, for the most part. Noctis, however, is a _problem_. Most of his coworkers and friends smell like food, but he can ignore it. Noctis smells like the finest feast, the most dainty and delicate of sweetmeats. Ignis finds himself wanting to touch, wanting to press fingers to the inside of Noctis's wrists or just below Noctis's ear, wanting to listen and taste and to discern if that particular tenor is the blue blood of nobility or exists merely because he's _always_ favoured Noctis over others.

\--

Ignis cannot remember the last night that he lived.

He has dreams, hazy recollections of a man with dark eyes and blonde hair pulled back foppishly in a ponytail. There's enough eroticism to these dreams to make Ignis rather irritated not to remember properly. If he was seduced into baring his neck willingly, he'd rather like to be able to recall the seduction.

Sex is an appetite that hasn't diminished. Ignis has no idea how a pulseless body can still direct blood to an erection, but the evidence is undeniable. The eerie coolth of his cock is ignorable, given enough effort, and orgasm is still a release.

He learns this using a fantasy he constructs around his unknown, dark-eyed killer. It's diverting. Even as he lies in a daze of contentment, his mind drifts to the more usual topic of his fantasies; Noctis, Noctis, and more Noctis.

He groans, and rolls over.

It will be fine. Ignis has long been expert in concealing his desire for Noctis. Bloodlust? It just adds another layer to that deception. He'll adapt. He has to.

\--

Ignis researches, of course, assembles all the scraps of knowledge he can about his situation. Vampire seems like the obvious label, and yet, several things seem off. 

He doesn't seem to _need_ blood, though as yet he hasn't tried to drink any. He has no idea of how to obtain it, and besides he has a vague fear that doing so might tip him over some irrevocable edge. He is stronger and faster than before, which tallies with myth, and he thinks his eyesight may have sharpened a tad. But there are none of other fringe mentioned benefits: he doesn't seem to have any mesmeric or transformative powers, for instance, and when he cautiously cuts a slit into the crook of his elbow it bleeds -- albeit with watery, unhealthy-looking blood -- and doesn't seem to heal until he dabs a bit of potion on it. He'll have to make sure he's always stocked with some, he thinks.

He also, and he feels bad for even contemplating it, cannot fathom how he could possibly suck blood. His teeth are as they were, his canines practically blunt. Clearly the man who did this to him was different; Ignis has the tiny puncture marks, has a sense that he was hypnotised somehow into submission.

For a while Ignis follows the thread of that research that speaks of being nothing but a thrall; a depowered, lifeless, mindless vessel that exists only to serve vampiric masters. Cattle, milked for his blood. But Ignis's mind remains his own, as far as he can tell, and there are no puncture marks that speak of further visitations.

It is a mystery that he makes no headway in deciphering.

\--

Noctis is in his apartment, three full weeks after Ignis's life ends. Ignis hasn't reached any conclusion about whether to tell anyone, or if his unlife should really change anything.

Ignis has always taken pride in his cooking skills, but without his own sense of taste to fall back on he finds himself examining Noctis's reactions to every bite in great detail. Is that a wince there? Did he inadvertently oversalt those fries? It's so difficult to be certain for himself.

"This is great, really," Noctis assures him for the third time, and then gestures to Ignis's plate. "Better than the rabbit food you're having."

Ignis's plate is mostly salad -- which tastes bland, and which he can pretend should taste that way -- drenched in sour vinegary dressing that pops on the tongue and lets Ignis forget that he only seems to have one sort of taste bud any more. "I like this," he says, truthfully. "Not all of us manage to exist on fat and starch alone."

"You're forgetting protein," Noctis says, in a 'helpful' tone of voice. "And salt."

"An entire food pyramid of malnutrition." 

Noctis sticks his tongue out, grinning. Ignis finds himself smiling too. Noctis has such easy charm, when he wants. Ignis has always admired it.

"Okay, I gotta say," Noctis says, looking away. "You've been kind of weird lately."

"...I have?"

"Yeah. Um." Noctis glances back at him, and then away again. "You're doing it again. Staring."

Ignis drops his gaze, quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

"It's… ahh. I don't mind, exactly. You've always been a bit weird." Noctis makes a snorting noise. "But if there's a _reason_ you keep staring then I wanna know it."

Ignis can't help but look up at that.

"I mean, um," and Noctis rubs at the back of his neck, as if he's embarrassed. "If it's just that I have food on my chin or something--"

"I like looking at you," Ignis says, and then marvels at himself for admitting it out loud. Perhaps death has removed a mental barrier. He doesn't even feel awkward about the admission. It's the truth.

Noctis is silent, his eyes flitting between focusing on Ignis's face and looking at his plate.

"I suppose you know that already, you must," Ignis continues, because he has to say something. "If that makes you uncomfortable then I apologise, and I'll try to do it less."

Noctis shakes his head, mutely.

"Alright then." Ignis reaches out a hand, gentle, and--astonished at his own daring--crooks one finger beneath Noctis's chin, forcing him to look up. "Then I will continue to admire, and anything more is up to you to initiate. Do you understand?"

Noctis looks lost, his beautiful eyes almost blank as he stares at Ignis, but he nods.

Ignis takes his hand away. "Good. Then finish your meal and we can watch that film you wanted."

It's as if he's broken a spell. Noctis flashes him another quick conspiratorial grin, and returns to eating his meal as if the conversation hadn't even happened.

Perhaps it hasn't, to him. Ignis doesn't quite know how to ask. But he goes back to his lists of vampiric traits and mythos, and carefully places a question mark next to 'hypnotism'.

\--

They're at a meeting, and Noctis is obviously bored.

Ignis finds that it's not that hard for him to split his own attention. Half on the (very dull) explanations of the Minister for Agriculture, and half on Noctis's twitching. Noctis's fingers grasp and flex. Noctis's jaw moves, tiny motions of repression that mean he wants to sigh and possibly yawn. Noctis's shoes move, too, and Ignis concludes after a while that Noctis is curling and uncurling his toes.

All of these movements serve to push blood around Noctis's body, Ignis thinks. His blood hums and sings as it surges through veins and capillaries, sweet and fragrant.

Noctis reaches across and takes Ignis's pen, and then scribbles on the edge of Ignis's notes. 

_how sick do I have to pretend to be to get out of this_

Ignis tries to hide his smile, and takes the pen back. _Only five minutes left._

The faintest little sigh escapes Noctis's mouth.

_This evening I wondered if you wanted dinner at mine_ , Ignis writes. They both have other meetings today, separately, and Ignis finds he longs to be able to bask in Noctis's scent and company further.

Noctis grabs the pen with undue haste and scrawls _YES_. Thankfully the Minister's attention is on Clarus, at the far end of the table from them, so the motion doesn't draw too much attention.

Ignis reclaims his pen, carefully. _Drop by at 7 then._

\--

Dinner with Noctis isn't much of an event, or shouldn't be, but Ignis finds himself humming in the shower in anticipation of Noctis's arrival and then picking out clothing that flatters. Stark royal black and his Citadel greys both emphasise the pallor of Ignis's skin, so he chooses richer tones; ruby red for his shirt, a complementary warm navy for his trousers.

He still looks wan, when he examines himself critically in the window. Candlelight might work to conceal, but, well. It seems overdone for a dinner and besides, Noctis has seen Ignis beneath the harsh lighting of endless Citadel boardrooms. It's probably fine. He dims the lights a little, all the same. He smears on a dab of lip stain, seriously considers the foundation he bought and hasn't dared use, then rolls his eyes at himself.

Dinner is simple to prepare; vegetables already in the steamer, steak marinated and left out to be pan-fried. Noctis arrives on time and in his customary attire; black cargo pants, black t-shirt, a hoodie that probably was black once but now is a faded grey.

"You got changed," Noctis says as he enters, with obvious surprise. "I didn't know we were dressing up."

"I needed a shower after my meeting with the Glaives," Ignis says, closing the door. "And I thought you'd rather I didn't just wear a dressing gown for dinner."

"Ha." Noctis flops onto the sofa. "What are we eating?"

"You'll find out. Hungry?"

Noctis nods, eyes forced sad and pitiful in a parody of starved waiflingness.

"It won't take long. Would you like a drink?"

Ignis checks the steamer; five minutes left. Noctis likes his steaks better-done than rare, so Ignis sets about getting them started. Just as he flips over the steaks, Noctis sets down two tumblers on the counter. Ignis can _smell_ the wine even above Noctis's bloodscent, a pungent red that marks a traditional accompaniment to beef.

"Wine glasses not where you expected?" he asks, because he rather has to.

"Pfft. We're not wine glass people."

Ignis raises an eyebrow, pointedly.

"Fine, _I'm_ not." The steamer pings, and Ignis reaches over to turn it off. Noctis scooches sideways and crouches to inspect the contents. "Hmm."

"That's sweet potato, not carrot."

"...I can tell the difference, you know."

"I don't doubt that, which is why it isn't carrot." Ignis takes the steak off the heat. Really, one should rest the steak for a while, but Noctis seems to dislike steaks when they're too cool. "Go sit down at the table, I'll bring these over."

Noctis sets about his steak with great vigour. Ignis takes a few hopeful bites; the marinade on his own steak is supposedly rather fiery. It transpires that his taste buds don't respond to chili-type heat either. Alas. He sets his cutlery aside and picks up the wine instead, leaning back in his chair.

Even with wine on his tongue, tannins sour and heavy, he can't help but allow his mind to fill with that sweetness that makes Noctis's smell distinctive.

"Staring again," Noctis mutters between mouthfuls.

"Sorry."

"I know. You like looking at me." And then Noctis pauses, and tips his head to one side, as if confused. "Why did I say that? Is that true? You like looking at me?"

"It is. I do."

Noctis puts down his fork. "Okay. Um. Nice food, mood lighting, and you're dressed up. And you're just _looking_ at me now. Specs. Are you… hitting on me?"

It's a startling question, despite everything, makes Ignis wonder why his unbeating heart seems to constrict in his chest. "Not unless you want me to."

"Wow." Noctis pushes his chair back, and for a second Ignis thinks he's going to get up and leave the apartment. "Specs. Seriously? You're _blind_. I thought you were being nice and pretending not to notice that I'm so hot for you even _Dad_ keeps asking when we're going to start dating."

Ignis is dumbfounded enough just to blink, slowly, as he tries to work out how many hints he must have missed.

And he desperately _wishes_ he'd caught on before he died. If only.

"So yeah, um. Hit on me. Please."

Ignis reaches a hand across the table, where it's seized immediately. "There are things you need to know first."

Haltingly, he does as best as he can to explain; makes Noctis feel for the pulse that isn't there in his wrist as he tells of waking up without life in his body. Explains the strength, the speed, the _difference_ in his perception of the world _._ It seems important that Noctis understands.

Noctis sits there listening, and then squeezes Ignis's hand. "Okay. Say I believe you--"

"I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know. I mean, okay. You feel cold, yeah. But vampire? I've seen you outside, like, yesterday."

"Sunlight feels like pins and needles. And I don't have a reflection in mirrors."

Noctis twists around, raises his eyebrows at Ignis's image in the window.

"Silver mirrors," Ignis corrects. "Noct, I can smell the blood in your veins, and it smells delicious. I can't think of a better description for _that_ than vampire."

Noctis gets up, walks around the table, and tugs Ignis up so he's standing. "You didn't _tell_ me? And this has been going on for weeks?"

"I'm telling you now."

"You just kept… working. Acting like everything was normal."

"Being made undead didn't bring with it sudden riches or an absence of other obligations. I enjoy my work, and the rest of my life. Unlife. And I need to pay my rent."

Noctis's eyes crease into an amused expression, and then he's kissing Ignis, with what feels like immense fondness. Noctis's mouth feels shockingly hot, shockingly _alive_ , and suffused with the same flavour that Ignis can smell in his blood. It's blissful and overwhelming and terrifying, and having Noctis press up against him only adds another dizzying aspect to the whole thing.

And oh, sweet mercy. He can _smell_ that Noctis is getting turned on, blood flushing his skin and lips.

"You _are_ really cold," Noctis says, pulling back fractionally. 

"I know."

"Huh." Noctis lifts a hand to Ignis's mouth, pushes a finger in and hooks Ignis's lip upwards. "You don't even have fangs." 

Ignis had half-expected that his heightened arousal might have triggered his vampire nature, would provoke bloodlust and growth of fangs, somehow. It feels wrong that they're missing. "I know," he repeats, grateful that Noctis is only being curious, not disbelieving.

"Do you want to bite me?"

Ignis nods, slowly, unwilling to lie. "You smell good. I wouldn't, of course, even if I knew how. I have no idea if all those vampire novels stories about control are right, but if they are, I might not be able to stop myself once I started."

"Hm."

"And I don't seem to be suffering by not drinking blood."

"You said. Super strong, super fast." Noctis touches Ignis's cheek, a caress of thumb across skin, and then frowns. "You're really _dead_." It's said more flatly than before, less playfully, like it's sinking in. 

"I am."

Noctis blinks up at him, his eyes somber and sad. "Specs. How can you be dead?"

"I'm sorry," Ignis says, and he loosens his grip on Noctis's waist, because the _tang_ of Noctis's blood has changed. "You're not obliged--"

"I know." Noctis pulls in a deep breath, and then places a hand on Ignis's chest. "Okay. I… I still want you. I do. But I think I need time to, um, cope with this."

There's not much Ignis can say. "Of course."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I know." Ignis takes a step back, disengaging fully from their embrace, because Noctis _hasn't_ and it's tangling his emotions to be half-held and half-rejected. "Go. When you're ready, we talk."

Noctis doesn't quite _flee_ , but he makes for his shoes and then the door, and looks back apologetically, and that's even worse.

\--

There follows a sequence of days during which Ignis tries his very best not to _think_ about Noctis or their kissing or the fact that Ignis no longer gets to have a _living_ heart to have broken.

There's a dry, hard exhaustion settling in his bones, making him feel distant and almost faint, and a sensation akin to thirst dawning in his hindbrain. Both of those do at least distract him from his horrible fears that Noctis won't find a way to come to terms with this, but starving himself still seems foolish. Ignis grits his teeth, decides to face the _feeding_ issue head-on, and searches. It's not hard to find alibi recipes. Blood sausage, blood sauce, blood pancakes, blood stews… Ignis even finds a seller of blood-infused chocolate. He's quite surprised to find it's so popular as an ingredient.

In any event, the butcher he visits is utterly unconcerned by the request, and Ignis returns home with a pint of pig's blood and a half-pint of cow's blood.

Pig's blood tastes coppery and sludgy. Ignis has to imagine it's something else in order to choke it down. Half a pint of it makes Ignis's stomach feel tight and uncomfortable, but he sleeps better that night than he has in days, and he feels _warm_ for the first time since his death. The next day he wakes up feeling energised and looking far healthier, enough of an improvement that it makes him suspect he should have fixed the blood issue rather earlier.

The improvement affects other people, too, Ignis thinks, as various members of his staff fall over themselves to make himself coffee that morning. Charisma, perhaps. Mesmerism. It's eerie. Ignis locks himself in his office, and tries not to talk to anyone face-to-face, lest he manipulate them against their will. 

Vampire, he thinks. Definitely vampire.

That evening, Noctis knocks on his door once before entering the room. Ignis is unprepared, dressed in his softest pyjamas for an evening of maudlin televisual distraction, and has to scramble to his feet at the sound of the door opening.

Noctis stands in the doorway of his dark living room, bathed in the flickering lights from the television. It washes the colour from him, makes Ignis hesitate to approach.

"Noct?"

"I thought about it," Noctis says. "And, even if you're _dead_ , you're you. And I still like you, Specs. Please?"

It takes two steps to close the distance, to be right in Noctis's personal space. "I'm yours."

Noctis grins up at him, and Ignis kisses him, thrilling again in the taste and scent that floods his awareness. They find their way to the sofa, somehow, shedding Noctis's jacket and shirt as they go. Noctis's skin is warm to the touch, addictively so, and there's blood humming beneath his skin, and Ignis can't stop himself from catching Noctis's wrist and running his tongue up towards his elbow, along the dark blue line that's most prominent.

Noctis inhales, hard, but doesn't pull away, which seems encouraging. He pulls in another sharp breath when Ignis presses a kiss to the soft skin below his jaw, and Ignis wonders if he's afraid Ignis _will_ bite him, but further experiments show that Noctis makes that same sound whenever Ignis finds a sensitive spot; his nipples, his earlobes, anywhere below his navel.

But then, everywhere Noctis touches Ignis feels alight with sensation. If Ignis needed breath, perhaps he'd be gasping for it too.

"Bed?" Ignis asks, his hand on Noctis's fly buttons. He's not really asking for a change in location, he realises, as he says it, more for confirmation that he can continue. Still, his bed _would_ be more comfortable.

Noctis nods, urgently.

Ignis slides an arm under Noctis's ass and lifts him up and _close_ \--easy, nearly trivial to his restored strength--and while that does make Noctis squeak in surprise, it's worth it for the way Noctis wraps his arms around Ignis's neck and presses his face into Ignis's collarbone.

The bed isn't too far, mercifully, and Ignis lowers Noctis onto it gently. He intends to pull back, to take a good long look at Noctis all flushed and half-nude and dishevelled, but Noctis's arms are locked firm. That's just fine, though; it means more kissing, means Ignis can fumble with those fly buttons until Noctis takes pity on him and undoes them himself and helps Ignis slide off both pants and underwear together.

Ignis's remaining clothing follows Noctis's to the floor, and somehow all fears Ignis had about his pale, cool-skinned body are dismissed by the way that Noctis rolls him over and pins him down hungrily.

"Condoms?"

"I don't have any."

"Oh."

"Another time, I would love you in me," Ignis says, because Noctis looks disappointed. "Or whatever you had in mind."

Noctis smiles at him, and slides his hand downwards. "Not sure yet."

It's as if Ignis is already on the very edge of arousal, from the sensations Noctis causes with even the most preliminary of touches to cock. It takes only a few caresses, and Ignis comes with what is, frankly, embarrassing swiftness, but thankfully they both find it funny, and then Ignis can flatten Noctis out and mouth his way downwards.

Noctis smells more animalistic, more like his blood, as Ignis reaches his cock. The headiness of it fills Ignis's mind, prompts Ignis to lift Noctis's legs over his shoulders and continue downwards, backwards, to explore the place where his tongue's intrusion makes Noctis whine with surprise. Noctis makes a series of astonished sounds, alternating between pleading and not-quite-protest, until Ignis--without even thinking about it--shifts upwards again, covers Noctis's cock with both hands and mouth, and exults in the hot, _vital_ explosion of salt and musk.

This, _this_ is a flavour his diminished tastebuds can still appreciate. Wonderful. Ignis crawls back upwards to watch as Noctis lies breathless and blissful, apparently robbed of the capacity to move. 

"Specs," Noctis says, in a hushed voice, "--Damn. _Ignis_."

"Good?"

"No. Incredible." Noctis coughs out half a laugh. "You want me to do that back to you?"

"Not if you don't want to." Ignis stretches, indulgently. "And not right now, nor anything else, because you look as if you're about to fall asleep."

Noctis smiles up at him, then snuggles in close. "You didn't bite me."

"Well, no." 

"You're sure you're a vampire?"

Ignis sighs. "I drank yesterday," he says. "Blood from the butcher. I feel better for it."

"Oh."

"I think that seals it, really." Ignis rests his chin on Noctis's head. "Still no fangs, though. Perhaps vampires don't have them after all."

Noctis snorts into his chest.

"I won't bite you. I promise."

They stay like that, with Ignis curled around Noctis--so warm, so fragrant, so _alive_ \--until he falls asleep.

\--

It's a delight, adjusting to a _romance_ with Noctis. It feels right. Ignis worries; he worries that he's influenced Noctis somehow with his vampirism, that it's not fair on Noctis to let him date a _dead man_ , that he doesn't deserve any of this.

But Noctis is beautiful, and he smiles at Ignis as though Ignis is the whole world. Noctis is wonderfully tactile, wonderfully keen on kissing and touching, wonderfully responsive to Ignis's touch. If all there was to this relationship was the physical, it would be marvellous enough, Ignis thinks. But there's so much more, so much trust and affection and _intimacy_ in their conversations that it makes him feel giddy.

Ignis decides he's going to be selfish, and keep Noctis _his_ as long as he can.

\--

Noctis starts poking inside Ignis's fridge, a few weeks after they begin dating.

"Pig," he reads out. "Cow. Sheep."

They all taste coppery and unpleasant; pig is the sourest, cow is the sweetest, sheep the most watery. It might be an artefact of how the butcher has stored the blood, Ignis thinks, but he can't say he _craves_ any of them. None of them have the sweet scent he smells from humans, much less that maddening _Noctis_ note. 

Perhaps it's just as well. He wouldn't want to become a glutton.

He's settled on one half-pint of animal blood per week, for now, as a self-assigned dosage.

"You really drink these?"

"I've _sampled_ them all."

Noctis opens up the cow's blood and sniffs it. "Mm. Like old pennies."

"Tastes like it, too."

"Huh." Noctis frowns, and puts the lid back on. "I thought you said that blood smelled delicious."

Oh dear. "Did I?"

"Yes, you definitely did."

Ignis shrugs. "Perhaps the appeal has worn off."

"Yeah?" Noctis closes the fridge. "Or maybe it's _people_ blood that smells good, hm?"

"Ah. Well. I will admit you smell rather better than a jar of pig's blood."

"Ignis."

"What do you want me to say? Yes, animal blood is unpleasant. But I don't, it turns out, have an alternative."

Noctis opens his mouth, then shuts it, and then scowls. "No, alright, I suppose not."

"I'm still not going to bite you, don't worry," Ignis says, suddenly wondering if that's why Noctis seems upset. "However tasty you might smell."

\--

Ignis licks his lips. Warmed cow's blood, on Noctis's suggestion, is _considerably_ nicer to drink than the chilled variety. It's not quite _good_ , but it's a lot farther from _bad_ , and he thinks he could get used to it. Though he still draws the line at drinking blood in front of Noctis. It just feels… wrong.

"Are you done?"

His handkerchief has no spots of blood on it when Ignis wipes his mouth. Good enough, then. "Yes, I am."

Noctis emerges from the kitchen. "Better?"

"Remarkably so."

That answer gets him a grin. "I _thought_ microwaving it might work. I saw it on a vampire detective show ages ago."

Ignis laughs. "Bless you for remembering, then. My quality of unlife will be much improved if my only source of nutrition is not disgusting."

Noctis crosses the room and flops onto the sofa next to him. "Just keeping my man happy, that's all."

"Mm." Ignis presses a kiss to that lovely, smiling mouth.

"Specs?"

"Yes?"

"Go brush your teeth?"

"...of course."

\--

It is the King's birthday in a few days. It's a grand affair, a national holiday which merits a state banquet and formal ball at the Citadel.

Noctis has been nudging Ignis for the past week, and in truth Ignis feels the same way. There are secrets to keep from others, but their relationship isn't one.

"Your Majesty," he says, bowing as they enter the King's private quarters. "Thank you for seeing us."

"Dad," Noctis says, and he moves forward swiftly, abandoning protocol as only he can, grabs his father's hands. "Sit down, you look done in."

King Regis smiles, and lets Noctis usher him to the chair near the fire. "Not too tired to spend time with my son. Never."

"Good." Noctis crouches, and looks over at Ignis.

"I think we'd like to talk to His Majesty alone," Ignis says, to the two guards by the entrance, and they look--as they should--at the King for his nod of confirmation before they leave.

The King gestures, and so Ignis and Noctis take seats on the plump settee that faces his chair. Ignis has sat here many times, often without Noctis, for conversations both formal and informal. It's familiar, and so comforting, even as Ignis feels his nerves build.

"Ignis and I," Noctis says, his voice firm as he places his hand over Ignis's, "we're… well, we're a _we_ , for a start. Boyfriends."

King Regis blinks, looks between the two of them, and then his expression cracks into a wide, delighted smile that drains the anxious tension out of Ignis's spine. "Truly?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"That's splendid news. Will you be attending the ball as Noctis's beau?"

Noctis nods, his warm hand squeezing Ignis's tight. "If that's okay, yeah. I figured it could be our, y'know, big reveal?"

"Albeit," Ignis says, quickly, "we don't want to make much of a _fuss_ out of it. It is your night, after all, sir."

King Regis nods, his smile wide enough to crease the skin around his eyes. "A six-minute fanfare and fireworks should be sufficient for the proclamation that my son has finally snared a man."

" _Dad_."

"Perhaps only five minutes," Ignis demurs, because King Regis enjoys teasing Noctis as much as Ignis does.

" _Ignis._ "

King Regis sighs, theatrically. "Very well. Do talk to the press office, they'll want to have a small statement ready on the topic if you two are going to be dancing together and so on. Tell them you have my heartfelt approval."

It's a reaction Ignis could only dream of. He bows, deeply, again wishing this could all have happened while he was alive to be warmed by these kind words. "My thanks, your Majesty. I am honoured."

"Noctis… don't let him go, you hear me?"

"Not planning on it, Dad."

King Regis nods. "Now then. Tell me how this came to pass. I was given to understand Ignis was oblivious to your tender affections, son."

Noctis lifts a hand to his face and drags it downwards. "Dad. No. We are not talking about that."

"Oh, but son, we are. Ignis? Tell me how my son got up the courage to ask you out."

\--

It's not surprising that Noctis squirms under the attention they get as a couple at the King's Birthday Ball. This sort of attention always makes him unhappy, and no matter how much of a brave face Noctis puts on, Ignis can _tell._ He tolerates as much of Noctis's discomfort as he can before it starts to make _him_ uncomfortable.

He sips at the wine--which is white, and probably a delightful vintage--and excuses himself to talk to the press secretary. She's polite, but firm; they haven't been here long enough to be allowed to slink away. Two more dances, at least, and then perhaps Noctis can make another speech.

Ignis fixes her with his most charming smile, and makes full eye contact.

"Are you certain that's necessary?"

She blinks, and looks down and then back at him, as if reconsidering. "One more dance, at least, and then if Prince Noctis could say something--" she says, and it sounds far more uncertain.

"Oh, come now, I don't think we want to draw any more attention from His Majesty. It _is_ his birthday."

She opens her mouth, and then closes it. She looks dazed. "If you think so."

"One dance, and we'll quietly go our own way," Ignis says, and smiles as sincerely as he can muster. "I'm glad we agree."

She nods, eerily docile. "Yes, sir."

"Jolly good," Ignis says, and as he walks back towards Noctis and the Altissian ambassador who has waylaid him, Ignis promises himself firmly he won't do such a thing ever again. It's a half-lie, he knows; if it helps Noctis, if he can justify it, he'll use every tool he has at his disposal.

Noctis looks worn out, his smile for the Accordan ambassador one of polite exhaustion. "Of course, you know Ignis Scientia, my advisor," he says. "Ignis is here as my partner tonight."

Ignis is given a critical, unimpressed look. "Is that so?"

"It is indeed," Ignis says, brightly. "Your excellency, how lovely to see you. I'll be claiming my Noctis for a dance, if you don't mind."

"If it could wait, I'd like to ask his Highness about the Gralean embargo."

Just looking at the resignation that flits across Noctis's face, Ignis feels his resolve snap. Well then. If it's for Noctis--

"Surely that can wait, your excellency," Ignis says, as persuasively as he can. "This _is_ a party."

There's a pause, as the ambassador blinks up at Ignis, eyes visibly losing focus.

"Yes, yes, of course, a party," the ambassador says, his tone suddenly jolly. "Don't let me stop you young ones from enjoying yourselves."

It's good enough as dismissals go, and Ignis bows as he takes Noctis's hand and pulls him to the dancefloor.

"How are you holding up?"

Noctis threads their fingers together, eyes on Ignis's hand. "Fine."

"You'll be thrilled to know we can slip away after this dance, then."

"Really? This soon?"

Ignis draws Noctis in a little closer than he's supposed to for these steps. "I may have sweet-talked the press officer a little."

Noctis snorts. "Like you just did with the ambassador? I'm onto you, Specs. You did something to him. A _vampy_ something."

"Ah."

"Don't do it to me. Don't." Noctis looks up at him, expression surprisingly stern. "Promise me."

Ignis puts a finger under Noctis's chin, lifts it. "I won't do it to _anyone_ except to help Lucis, or to help you. As I just did."

"You'd better not."

"I promise."

Noctis's fingers tighten, and his eyes regain some of the soft fondness Ignis has come to treasure. "Good."

\--

"Ignis," Noctis says, and he's shaking Ignis, and Ignis is on the floor, and how did that happen?

There are people clustered around. Ignis struggles to sit up. "I'm good," he tries to say, but his mouth feels dry, like it's been scoured out with cotton wool. "I'm okay."

"Specs," Noctis says, and he sounds relieved. "You're awake."

"You just collapsed," one of the figures says, and now Ignis can focus a little better, can tell it's Deren from the archives at the Citadel. "And then we couldn't wake you, and you weren't _breathing_ \--"

"Your pulse was a bit weak, too," Noctis says, and he's smiling a forced smile, his hand clamped on Ignis's wrist. "It's come back nice and strong now, though."

Well, _that's_ a lie if ever Ignis heard one, but he appreciates the cue. He lifts his other hand to his head. They're in the records department, one floor below his office. "I just fainted, I think. Must be the heat."

"It _is_ a bit warm in here," one of the secretaries--Veleria--says. "I've opened a window."

Noctis helps Ignis to his feet. "I've got him," Noctis says, cheerfully. "I'll get him up to his office. Thanks for calling me."

Ignis's head clears a bit on the way up the stairs, and he's able to remember: he'd walked down here to get a file, had felt unaccountably heavy-headed and exhausted, and then… blackness.

"I dunno what would make you faint," Noctis says, and his arm is around Ignis's waist, under Ignis's shoulder, holding him up. He smells _incredible_ , and Ignis tries not to lean in to inhale. "Did you forget to drink your _thing_?"

"I had some a few days ago."

"Maybe you need to drink it more often."

"I hope not."

"Thank the Six I've got a little tub in my mini-fridge just in case."

Ignis wobbles, and nearly trips up the last step. "You have _blood_ in your _office?_ "

"In case my boyfriend needs it, yep." Noctis gestures towards the end of the corridor, where he has a little suite of rooms making up his office. "Come on, you can lie decoratively on my sofa while I nuke it into drinkability."

Noctis's private meeting room has a matched pair of chaise longues covered in black velvet, and Ignis flops quite comfortably on one. Noctis ducks into the little galley kitchen and Ignis can hear the sounds of activity; the fridge opening, the hum of the microwave, the little hissing noise Noctis makes, presumably as he pulls out a container that's hotter than he'd expected.

"Don't burn yourself," Ignis says, automatically.

"I'm good, I'm good." There's a glugging sound, and Noctis hands out a cup.

Noctis has microwaved his blood in a cup that says GLAIVES: WE DO IT WITH BOTH HANDS. Ignis takes the cup, raises an eyebrow in the direction of where Noctis is still hidden from view, and takes a sip.

It's _wonderful_. Blissfully good.

"You must tell me your source," Ignis says. "Clearly it's rather better than _my_ butcher."

"Is it good?"

"Very much so." Ignis takes another mouthful, and marvels at the explosion of flavours on his tongue; this blood tastes rich and satisfying. Well, hunger does tend to make things taste better. He really _must_ have needed to drink after all.

Noctis chuckles. "I added a special ingredient."

"Oh?"

"I put a few drops of my blood in."

Ignis has the cup at his lips, and immediately pulls it away. "You did _what_?"

Noctis sticks his head out of the galley. "Like four drops? The rest is all pig. But I figured--"

"You _spiked_ my blood?"

Noctis comes out of the galley, and sits down next to Ignis. "It tastes better. Which means you won't pull a face like a wet Wednesday when you're supposed to drink it to stay, you know, not fainting."

"I--"

"So yeah, I spiked it. For your own good. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, right?"

Ignis takes Noctis's hand, turns it over. No obvious cuts or wounds, but then, Noctis can heal such things easily enough with his own magic. "Hm."

"I really _can_ spare a few drops. Don't get all precious about it, Specs."

"Perhaps so. But, your blood as my food? I don't like this at all."

"Yeah, well, I don't like you collapsing at work. You know they really freaked when they couldn't find a pulse?" Noctis actually scowls. "It's a good thing I was just in the corridor. If someone else had heard them yelling, they might have found you _dead_."

Ah. Ignis hadn't realised the situation had been quite that perilous. "I'm sorry."

"Good," Noctis says, as if Ignis has agreed to this whole thing. "Now, finish that."

Ignis looks down at the cup, and then back up at Noctis.

"Fine, fine. I'll go back in the kitchen. But don't waste it, okay?"

\--

Even such a small dose of Noctis-spiked pig's blood makes Ignis feel more alive than he has at any point since his death. It's as if a thick fog has been lifted from across his senses. Colours look bright and vivid. Sounds seem clearer, music more sonorous. He can even taste more flavours than before, able to discern the pleasing spice of curries and the _umami_ of miso-coated aubergine.

For about two days, and then it's as if Ignis has sunk back down into a haze. Not merely of insensitivity, this time, but it's as if his very _thoughts_ are sluggish.

It probably wouldn't feel so bad, if he wasn't so aware of the contrast.

Noctis comes over to his office, on the third day. When he enters, Ignis is staring at a contract whose wording he could have sworn made sense when he wrote it the previous day.

"You okay? Leonidas says you were really off in your meeting earlier."

Ignis blinks up at him, and manages to carefully enunciate the words, "I feel stupid."

"Huh?"

"Like my brain is--" and words fail him, so he just lifts a hand and makes a motion meant to convey idiocy. "

Noctis closes the door to the office, carefully, and then he comes close and peers into Ignis's eyes. It's meant to be kind, but it makes Ignis's hunger flare.

"Close," Ignis says, from discomfort. "Smell like food."

Noctis frowns, and presses a hand to Ignis's cheek, sending a warm tingle through him. Healing, Ignis thinks, though it takes him a few run-ups to put the thoughts in an order that makes sense. Noctis is trying to use magic to make him feel better.

"No," he says, pushing the hand away, because it's not doing anything. "Thank you. No."

"You need to eat?"

"No. Too soon."

Noctis turns, and does _something_ complicated with his hands that Ignis can't follow, and then moves again, and then Ignis's lips are slick and wet. He licks them, more because of instinct than anything else.

It's frightening how fast he catches up with himself then. He reaches out a hand and grabs Noctis's wrist before he can pull away.

"I did _not_ want you to do that," he says, because Noctis has slit open his index finger with Ignis's paper knife. "Must you always be so direct with your solutions?"

"Fixed it, though, didn't it." Noctis glances down at his finger, and sends a pulse that Ignis can feel through his bones, one that knits back together the flesh he's cut open. "You're my Ignis again."

"I wasn't this bad last time I went without," Ignis says, and he lets go of Noctis. "It's getting worse, between feedings. Is it because you gave me your blood?"

Noctis shakes his head. "I suppose it could be. Or it could be that your body is decaying and you need more blood, better blood, to keep it going?"

"No answers in your vampire books and films?"

"Nothing like this."

Ignis forces out a sigh. "Oh well."

"Specs, just so you know: you get dumb again, I'll feed you again. Don't tell me not to. It's just weird and wrong and disturbing to have _you_ act like you can't add two and two."

" _You_ thought it was disturbing?"

"Let's not have it happen again." Noctis traces his cheek with a finger, and then leans in and kisses him, fondly. "Come to mine tonight. You can dazzle me with your big words and prove you're still you."

"Sounds splendid."

Ignis sends Noctis on his way, and returns to his work with relief that it still makes sense to him. Clearly he needs to keep his intake of blood up, or else… well, let there be no _or else_. Ignis has had the importance of good health drilled into him all his life; as a servant of the Crown, he must be mentally and physically fit for duty.

Being dead doesn't let him off that hook, surely.

\--

There's a state banquet in honour of one of the Councillor's retirements. Ignis has to attend; both as Noctis's chief advisor and as Noctis's partner. Noctis is unusually twitchy about this one, because so many of the King's Council are in attendance and some of _those_ have been quite vocally negative about Noctis's lifestyle. Living alone like a commoner, working in retail, going to a state-run highschool; not Princely, and not liable to lead to a very regal King.

Ignis thinks they're ridiculous. Better a ruler who knows how the common folk live, at least somewhat, than a king who has never set foot outside the sanctified and elegant world of the aristocracy and nobility of Insomnia.

He sips the warmed-over blood Noctis has given him, as Noctis goes over his speech again.

"Good," he says, at the end, nodding. "Though you may want to sound more sincere when thanking Lord Carvin for his contributions to the immigration charity."

"You mean the obscene gestures I made weren't flattering enough?"

Ignis laughs. "You'll be fine, Noct. Honestly."

"Good." Noctis sags into the seat next to him. "Wish I had a pick-me-up like _that_."

"I assure you, you don't want a pick-me-up like this."

"Yeah, fair. But I wish I had something to give me a boost, y'know."

Ignis wipes his mouth, and presses a soft kiss to Noctis's lips. "I have every faith in you, my love."

"Okay, yeah, that works." Noctis grins at him. "Okay. One more kiss and I'll be good to go."

This kiss lasts rather longer, and Ignis is aware his mouth likely tastes coppery from the blood he's just been drinking, but Noctis doesn't seem to mind. It's lovely, he thinks, how adaptable one can be to changing circumstances. It would be all too much for some men, this relationship they have, this shifting ground of undeadness, the _blood_.

That Noctis thinks he's worth it anyway is enough for Ignis to regard himself as absurdly lucky.

\--

The state banquet itself is a chore to be endured. There are the expected speeches--Ignis concludes that Noctis's is the best, even if he is prebiased to believe that--and a long procession of dishes that vary from the traditional to the elaborate, and Ignis is forced to sit on a different table to Noctis.

He eats minimal amounts of each treat placed before him, converses politely with his neighbours, and hears with every bone in his body the _thrum, thrum, thrum_ of blood pumping around the bodies of everyone at the feast.

Ignis hears that sound often now, spends most of his days aware that other people are vitally alive, that their hearts and lungs pump of their own accord, air and fluids and bile and toxins moving along their courses inside the fragile envelope of flesh. 

Flesh which knits itself back together of its own accord when wounded, unlike Ignis's.

He'd cut himself on a knife the day before, this time accidentally, and watched his sluggish blood dripping from the cut for a solid ten minutes with no sign of abating. Thank the Six for the Crownsguard's standard post-training-session healing potions, which do all the work that Ignis's body no longer does in terms of kissing away bruises and minor cuts. Otherwise he'd have spent every day acquiring new wounds his undead body wouldn't have known how to fix. He's taken to carrying a few vials around with him, just in case.

Ignis sips at the wine, and wonders vaguely what his liver looks like now.

The banquet winds to its close, with toasts made to King and Country and Crownsguard and to the retiring Councillor himself. Ignis's neighbour drops her glass, and Ignis manages not to nick himself while helping her clean it up.

There's dancing, afterwards, in the royal ballroom, but it's far more informal than at the King's Birthday, and after a couple of turns around the floor in the large group dances it's perfectly fine for Ignis and Noctis to slip away.

They take a taxi back to Ignis's flat, with Noctis curled up against Ignis's side and radiating contentment all the way home. Ignis takes it as a good sign, warm anticipation curling through him, and indeed once they're back in Ignis's flat they kiss and kiss until Ignis nearly can't stand how much he wants Noctis.

It's not something they've done before, despite Noctis's initial query about condoms, because Ignis isn't sure Noctis really wants to be penetrated and he usually gets Noctis off with his mouth--he regards this as a tad selfish, because he adores doing that to Noctis--which tends to mean there's no chance for Ignis to bottom.

But tonight he fumbles in his bedside drawers and plucks out the pack of condoms. Tonight Noctis looks at the pack, and them back at him, and then his smile goes all fierce and thrilled and Ignis is more certain than ever that he wants Noctis, now and always.

The whole thing is even better than he hoped. Ignis suspects he might have to forgo some blowjobs if this is the alternative; the bliss of the stretch and pull and the friction and the gorgeous feel of Noctis filling him so completely. It feels primal, raw and exactly right for the two of them.

Noctis sprawls out next to him, afterwards, and strokes a hand down Ignis's spine. He looks pleased with himself, and Ignis can't blame him.

"You're still cold," Noctis says, and said in a tone of wonderment, almost approval, but it makes Ignis feels his perpetual tinge of disappointment that all of this, _this_ , has only been in his life since his death. "I bet I've gone bright red."

"Like a contented lobster," Ignis says, to make Noctis laugh, which works. "You'll have to warm me up."

Noctis scootches in closer, drapes a leg over him. "Like this?"

"Perfect."

"Yes, you are."

"Ha." Noctis yawns, and then scrunches his eyes up and opens them in a series of blinks. "I'm not tired. I'm not, I--"

"Go to sleep, my sweet. I'll still be here when you wake up."

"Okay." Noctis presses a kiss to Ignis's shoulder. "Love you."

It's said so easily, so lightly that it makes Ignis's dead flesh feel almost warm right until he falls asleep himself.

\--

Ignis is clumsy today. Well, comparatively; he's still strong and fast, attracting the same admiring comments he's had on his form since his death. Crownsguard and Glaives who train with him seem to think he's been eating some new superfood or vitamin pro-complex; it can't be steroids, Gladio says, laughing, because it's Ignis.

But something feels _off_. His daggers pull a little more to the left than he's compensated for, and he doesn't quite pinpoint the centre target. His spearwork flattens Rinthis and Elicia in the salle when they spar, but it feels more effortful than it has done for some time. His backflips aren't as elegant and fluid as he'd like.

And he has to actually use corrective fluid on some written documentation. Appalling.

It's not blood deficit; he drank a cupful of warmed blood that very morning, complete with a dash of Noctis's blood from a tiny tube Noctis had given him for the purpose.

What this feels like is some sort of hangover. A muzziness, akin to his worst withdrawal symptoms, albeit nowhere near as debilitating. The sense of disorientation lasts three days, then it clears a tad, and then Ignis is turning to talk to Noctis while they're walking down the rear staff steps in the Citadel and he somehow misses a step.

It's a simple enough slip, the sole of his shoe sliding griplessly and skidding out into the air. His balance drops away from him; he yelps inelegantly and drops the folder he's holding. Noctis reaches for him, and Ignis watches as Noctis's expression goes from concern to genuine fear.

Ignis flails, and falls.

He's not sure how many steps he falls down, but Noctis warps to catch him at the bottom. He should have been fine. He would have been fine, except that Ignis bounces twice before Noctis catches him, and the cracking, fleshy sound and the excruciating pain that shoots through him tells him that he has broken some very important bones.

The world goes dark red.

Through the dimness and the roaring sound in his ears, he sees Noctis say something.

Is he summoning some help? Ignis is already dead. What does Noctis thing can be done? This kind of injury can't be saved with a mere healing potion, and the carefully-hoarded store of phoenix downs kept in the Citadel can't resurrect a man with no life in his body.

He blinks, hard. Noctis is still speaking to him, intently, and then he feels a surge of warmth. Healing magic. Bless. It lifts a little of the pain and darkness, but all that means is that Ignis becomes even more aware of the brokenness of his body. Something in his thigh has shattered entirely. Part of his pelvis is snapped. Possibly some of his spine is ruined too.

Noctis says something else, and then he's wiping his finger on Ignis's mouth. Blood. Ignis tries to open his mouth, unclench his jaw, and he can feel the blood seeping in. It's a burst of brilliance that cuts across everything else.

"Noct," he croaks, "It's not going to work."

"If I give you enough--"

"No."

Noctis scowls, and then he _lifts_ Ignis's upper body, which sends pain screaming down Ignis's nerves again. It's so intense that it feels almost as if Ignis's spirit parts ways with his body, everything going white and distant, and then when Ignis snaps back to himself he's--

_No! Absolutely not!_

He lifts his hands, fights Noctis's grip on him, tries to pull his head away, but Noctis is cradling Ignis's mouth to his neck. Blood is surging into Ignis's mouth--hot, singing with sweetness and _life_ \--and it takes another ten seconds before Ignis's hindbrain overrules his protests too.

He drinks.

Oh, Six. Bliss! Utter ruination of everything else in comparison, a feeling like electricity coursing along Ignis's every fibre of being. His bones fold themselves quietly and neatly back into place. His flesh crochets itself back into firmness. Tingling threads of awareness jolt down Ignis's nerves, alighting them and making him feel connected to all things, everywhere. Godly.

And then his heart swells, and in one terrifying rise and fall, it beats. And beats again.

The pain of it snaps him back to reality.

Noctis's hands go slack on him, this time, when Ignis fights his grip. He inhales, hard--air! Much-needed air!--and sits up. His heart is pounding now, hard and fast. 

Noctis, meanwhile, goes limp and collapses next to him.

"Noct?" 

Noctis's eyes are closed, his expression almost serene. His neck is slit open at the side, blood coming out faster than Ignis can believe is at all possible to stem.

Ignis fumbles at his own suit jacket, which is drenched in that same blood. Vials, vials, he always has them just in case, if only they've survived the tumble then--

Three potions are there, mercifully intact. Ignis opens all three at once, pours one on Noctis's wound directly and forces the contents of the others into Noctis's mouth. The wound seals over, to Ignis's great relief, and he can tell by the glowing that the others are working in their own appallingly slow and underpowered fashion.

And then, he waits. 

The sound of his own heartbeat is so loud to him; his breathing seems to echo up and down the stairwell. Is he… is he _alive_ again? How on earth can that be? The blood around his mouth no longer tastes fragrant and intoxicatingly _foodlike_. It's just blood again.

He's… cured.

Noctis wakes up a few terrifying moments later, eyes fluttering open.

"You're back," Ignis says, clutching at Noctis's hands. "Oh, thank the Six."

Noctis smiles, lopsidedly, up at him. "And you don't look like you've been snapped in half."

"I… no."

He helps Noctis sit up. They're both covered in a combination of Noctis's scarlet blood and what passed for Ignis's blood in death, a visibly darker, browner, viscous fluid. There are some papers underneath Noctis; it must be from the folder Ignis dropped. For a microsecond Ignis is mildly annoyed that he'll have to reprint the whole thing, and then he snorts at himself and goes back to checking to see how Noctis is.

"We should get you to hospital," Ignis says, though in truth Noctis seems no worse than after a particularly brutal training session. "You've, well, lost a lot of blood."

"Worth it to keep you here," Noctis says, and he reaches up a hand to cup Ignis's face. "I thought I'd lost you, Specs."

"Quite the opposite," Ignis says, and he plucks Noctis's hand from his cheek, moves it to just under his jaw. "Feel that."

Noctis looks at where Ignis has put his fingers, and then frowns, and then his expression flattens out into utter confusion, and he yanks his fingers away and grabs Ignis by both his shoulder. "Am I dead?"

"No."

"And you're not dead?"

"No."

Noctis has the most beautiful smile in the world. "Holy _fuck_."

\--

It's three weeks after Ignis came back to life.

There's no blood in his fridge. He can see himself in mirrors, his lips pink and his nails no longer grey. He can _sunbathe_. He'll never take living for granted again, that's for sure.

Some things were easier when he was dead, admittedly. He'd rather enjoyed getting his own way so easily in office arguments, and he's now suspecting he used just a shred of vampiric energy behind his words even when he didn't intend to. He'll never again hit those personal bests in the gym or on the training grounds.

But he can breathe, and food tastes worth eating again, and when he nicks his fingers on the tape dispenser in the office he knows the pinprick marks will fade of their own accord.

And he can hold Noctis, kiss him and touch him and be touched in return, and know that he was indeed missing out on a vital part of being alive, because nothing in his life--or in his unlife--can compare to having Noctis kiss him, breath redolent with garlic that Ignis cooked for him, and laugh at how pink he goes with desire. Nothing in death was as sweet as knowing he'll never again fear he'll lose control of himself and bite his beloved.

Ignis suspects nobody else's blood would have effected the cure. The fragrance, the sweet headiness of Noctis's blood, might have just because of Ignis's prior affection. Chances are, he thinks, that Noctis smells so good because of the healing power that comes as part of his particular arsenal of magicks.

If Ignis could smell that, well, so might others. And there's at least one person out there, the man who killed Ignis, who might long for a return to the land of breath and bread and beautiful mortality. Who knows? Perhaps there are many. Ignis will have to look into it.

Because no matter what, no matter if Noctis some day rejects him and pushes him away, Ignis will ensure that his Noctis is safe.

Always.


End file.
